


Bury Those Feelings (for no real reason)

by Officer_Jennie



Series: Raffle Stories [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Founders Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 21:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: Contrary to what most might think, Madara was used to burying his emotions - anger outburst aside, at least. His latest buried feelings were a bit more serious than his denial wanted him to believe, however.Or: Madara's awful at feelings, so is Tobirama, and these idiots really need to get a mediator to talk it out like normal people.





	Bury Those Feelings (for no real reason)

**Author's Note:**

> Story written for multifandomprocrastinator over on tumblr, who was one of the winners of my raffle!

Contrary to what most might think, Madara was used to burying his emotions. Anger outbursts aside, there was plenty he felt that those around him had no knowledge of. His soft spot for the sparrows nesting in his backyard had gone unnoticed even by his own brother, as had the hours he’d spent sitting on the back porch of an evening tossing them seeds. It had also taken said brother and Hashirama both months past the founding of Konoha to realize Madara had clung onto that dream over the years just as fervently as the former - and if Madara could hide something that massive from two of his most important people, one of whom lived under his roof, he was certain there was little he couldn’t hide from most anyone else.

His latest buried feeling was a lot more serious than fondness for a couple of birds. It left him scowling at himself, seated behind stacks of paperwork and scrolls at his office desk in the hokage tower. Denial had become a lifelong companion at this point but even he could tell it was getting bad if a bit of _handwriting_ could cause his heart problems.

Tossing the scroll back onto the mass of others didn’t exactly make him feel any better but he did it anyway, tapping his foot as he glared in offense at the innocuous meeting reminder slowly settling into the clutter in front of him.

Why the Senju bothered to pen it all out by hand was something a bit beyond his ability to care about, though it was admittedly odd. Even Madara had managed to swindle someone into being his assistant, though the hapless civilian still gave him a wide berth even while in the same office - something that really shouldn’t have amused him as much as it did. Had the Senju not managed to do the same?

It mattered little, really. Madara rolled his shoulder to alleviate some of the stiffness, rubbing at his neck as he pushed himself to his feet. Curiosity aside, he had no reason to care about something that ultimately didn’t affect him beyond a few fluttered heartbeats, and he reminded himself of that quite firmly as he locked and sealed his office behind him.

The meeting wasn’t for another hour or so, which gave him plenty of time to grab a late lunch down the street. Staying ahead of his paperwork meant there was no need to worry over the lost work time, and with the local udon shop calling his name he waltz down the hall with little worry beyond filling his rather empty stomach.

Most of the tower and town alike had already broke for lunch, though there were still a few patrons seated here and there when Madara stepped into the pleasantly cool shop. Summer had yet to fall heavy around them but the humidity had always been worse than the heat, and to say it had been muggy would have been an understatement. Perhaps it spoke of how spoiled he’d become with living in the village, since his tolerance for such gods awful weather had dropped significantly after the war had been left behind, his days spent in the field traded in for the comforts of working indoors with a soft cushion at his arse and a pleasant breeze rolling in through the windows.

At least he hadn’t gained too much weight after. Hikaku had gained enough for five people, though that could also have something to do with him settling down with a family.

Once he’d found a seat (near the furthest corner, in view of all the exists; spoiled or not, some habits would never die after years of training had ingrained them into his very nature), it was time to play one of his favorite games: which civilian would be brave enough to serve him today?

It probably was wrong to find amusement in how some of the civilians reacted to his presence. But amusement was a far cry to how horrid it used to make him feel, and it wasn’t as if he purposely caused them any discomfort in the first place.

Apparently, no one brave was working there today. By the ten minute mark Madara was drumming his fingers on the table, doing his best not to glare over towards the back area where he’d seen the servers congregating. The front door chimed as it swung open and shut, and his inner grouch was certain whoever their newest customer was would get their food long before he did at this rate.

“Ah, good. I needed to speak with you anyway.”

He hardly had time to blink up in confusion before Tobirama was pulling a chair over to join him, seating himself across the table and snapping open a menu with no more explanation.

“Uuuhhh.”

“Have you had their kakiage udon? It’s tempting, but I’d rather not go to a meeting drowning in grease.”

“It’s fine?” As if oblivious to Madara’s confusion, Tobirama flipped his menu shut and waved over a waiter with a flick of his wrist. He honestly wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not when they came over with no hesitation, taking both their orders (still rather thrown off by his unexpected lunch companion, Madara reflexively ordered the exact same thing Tobirama did) and scurrying off to the kitchen to relay it to the cooks.

“Shouldn’t you have eaten already?” It’s not really the question Madara wanted to ask, but it’s what he blurted out anyway, watching as Tobirama unfolded a napkin to nudge it around into a precise position next to where his bowl would be.

“I was a bit preoccupied during my normal lunch hour, as I imagine was the case for you.” The way he paused made it sound almost like a question, though Madara wasn’t sure why he’d be bothering to ask. He nodded anyway, and ended up even more confused when Tobirama pursed his lips in turn. “Well. I suppose everyone’s busy with work and whatnot. We’re not the only ones working over every now and then.”

“At least it’s getting easier,” Madara offered, mind once more drifting towards the assistants recently hired on in the tower. Which reminded him… “Why don’t you have someone working under you yet?”

“You mean an errand runner, yes?” Tobirama took a few moments to pour them both some mugicha, setting the pitcher down to sip a bit of his own and mull over the question. “I’ve not found someone trustworthy willing to work for me. Besides,” he flicked his wrist in gesture, staring off towards the windows that peered out to the streets, “much of my work - _our_ work - is confidential. It doesn’t take that much longer to do it myself, and it’s exponentially safer to do so.”

“So it’s because no one wants to work with you.” Not exactly what his companion had said, but Madara had always been an expert at reading between the lines. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing the sudden pink tinting the Senju’s cheeks. For a moment it looked as if he might respond but the waiter came by with their food then, leaving Tobirama looking beyond relieved to not have to answer.

They ate in relative silence, Madara occasionally glancing thoughtfully up at his unlikely lunch partner, and Tobirama for his part looking entirely unbothered by both the quiet and how confused the Uchiha seemed by his presence. It was at least pleasant enough that Madara found little reason to complain, though his mind quickly started to wander back to their brief conversation before he’d unintentionally teased the Senju over his lacking social skills.

Sure, the man was certainly not the easiest to get along with. He was a spitfire in his own right, and despite having a walking stump for a brother he did not handle stupidity well. But he was well liked by the villagers from what he’d seen - shinobi and civilian alike - so it honestly baffled Madara that he’d yet to find an assistant willing to put up with him. Plenty of people viewed Madara as a cantankerous man, and even _he’d_ managed to nab one easily enough.

“There’s a few non-active shinobi in the Uchiha clan, you know.” Madara hadn’t actually meant to start off so abruptly, and if his owlish blinking was anything to go by he’d certainly taken his companion off guard as well. He covered up his foul with a sip of tea, making as if he’d entirely meant to blurt out a mid-thought instead of starting the conversation somewhere intelligible. “Retired shinobi, I mean. Some of which are still young and looking for work. Not a whole lot to choose from, mind, but I’m sure you could find one trustworthy enough not to go snooping through your files.”

“I’m not sure I-” Tobirama cut himself off with a cough, eyes flickering off to the side as he placed his spoon back down. “Are you offering one of your clansmen as an assistant?”

The mystified tone was dismissed with a dignified sniff. “Think of it as building clan relations if you have to. Surely having an Uchiha working alongside a Senju will only aid the image of peace.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Tobirama’s frown was thoughtful as he fiddled with his spoon, upsetting the leftover broth in his bowl. “But that’s not why you’re offering.”

“Does it matter why? Just take the offer, stubborn Senju.” He probably wouldn’t have found the observation so annoying if he could actually say what, exactly, had possessed him to offer the man aid in the first place. But all that came to mind when he gave it thought were the buried thoughts he kept trying to hide from himself - long fingers on pale hands, striking red across an unfairly attractive face, eyes that could pin him in place with only a spare glance.

So nothing he wanted to think about in public, then. Let alone when the star of those supposed to be buried images sat straight across a table from him. And just in case those thoughts could be seen on his face he hid behind another long drag of tea, not at all wanting anyone - _least_ of all Tobirama - to know about the strange fluttering going on in his stomach.

For a few moments it looked as if Tobirama might protest, lips pursed together as he fiddled with his napkin, rolling it until it shredded between his fingertips. In the end he acquiesced with a small nod, red eyes flickering away to stare back at the mostly empty streets outside the udon shop.

They sat in silence for the rest of their stay, a tad awkward but not entirely unwelcome still. Madara had no desire to search himself for answers and was glad that Tobirama didn’t try to make him, both of them content to sip the last of the pitcher dry and enjoy the quiet before heading to the weekly council meeting.

It wasn’t until they’d both gotten up and paid for their respective meals that something occurred to him. Madara stared at Tobirama’s back as they left the shop, clearing his throat to catch his attention as soon as they were out on the street.

“You said you needed to speak with me.”

“Did I?” Tobirama looked confused for a few moments, before understanding dawned on him - and a rather attractive shade of pink spread across his cheeks. “Ah, yes. I did, didn’t I?”

“Well? Spit it out, then!”

“Yes, well, what I needed to speak to you with is actually- I might have, in a way, not been entirely truthful about that.”

The rambling was a bit frustrating, no matter how curiously uncharacteristic it was. Especially considering how little time they had to get to the point, what with an important meeting hanging over their heads. “I don’t have all day, and neither do you. Did you have something to say to me or not?”

“Technically? No. I was just...using that as an excuse, can we not discuss this here?”

Even more mistified than before, Madara didn’t even give consideration to having the discussion elsewhere. He just dug his heels in further, grabbing hold of Tobirama’s arm just in case the man gave any thought to leaving without _actually_ answering him. “An excuse for _what_ , exactly?”

His discomfort was palpable, the deepening scowl doing nothing to fight off the likewise deepening red spreading all the way to his ears. Escaping would mean making a scene though, and Madara knew the man well enough to know he wouldn’t want to cause a ruckus in public. At least he gave in quickly enough, finally giving an answer but refusing to meet Madara’s gaze while he did so. “An excuse to have lunch with you.”

“That’s it?” Why on the gods’ green earth Tobirama would need an _excuse_ to eat with someone had his head hurting. His question was a bit too loud, gaining the attention of the few stragglers making their way down the street - but a quick glare sent them on their way, hopefully with their mouths firmly shut. Civilians and shinobi alike were horrid gossips, even if there was nothing nefarious or private to take from their conversation.

Unless…

Tobirama still wasn’t looking at him, shifting his weight awkwardly while keeping his focus firmly on the hokage tower, as if that would save him from the conversation. He was oddly embarrassed over wanting to have lunch with someone with no meaning behind doing so, though there was something dangerous tugging at Madara’s mind reminding him he was very good at reading between the lines - and that, denial aside, he already knew the answer to _why_ Tobirama was acting this way.

When it finally hit him, he didn’t know whether to punch the man in front of him or head straight to the missions office and demand a month long mission far out of country. He ended up sputtering instead, doing his best to choke out some coherent words past the mortifying mess of _feelings_ rising up against his will.

“ _Was this a date_?”

“...no?”

“Don’t answer a question with another question!”

Tobirama was looking just as mortified as he felt, which was some small solace at least. He still had to duck his face behind his high collar, glad not for the first time in his life that his hair covered most of the rest of his face.

“Do we have to do this _here_?” Despite the hissing tone, Tobirama looked at least a little desperate, watching the few people on the streets near them walk passed. But as much as Madara agreed with him about not wanting to air out his dirty laundry in public he still wanted an answer, and he tightened his grip on his captive’s arm just to make sure he got one.

“Just. Answer the question, Senju.” Embarrassing or not, the feeling clenching in his chest demanded he know. And knowing the sneaky bastard he’d find a way to avoid him after this if he didn’t get one now.

That he’d given thought to going off on a long mission was an entirely different issue, of course. No comparison to be had there. Running from completely nonexistent _feelings_ was entirely different than running away from a question.

“I had given some consideration to the idea that we might find each other’s company decent enough to spend downtime together, yes, but it wasn’t my intention to trick a date out of you. Now can we go to the meeting, or are we going to stand here and discuss _personal matters in public_ all afternoon?”

“Depends on if you’ll have dinner with me tonight.”

His jaw snapped shut as soon as the words were out. Madara had no idea what had forced him to say that, beyond the stubborn shit refusing to stay buried, but now that it was out he was hardly going to be a coward and take it back. Instead he straightened his back a little more, staring up at Tobirama as if daring him to mention the obvious flush growing on his face.

“Dinner?” Tobirama blinked, clearly taken aback - but considering how out of left field the demand was he recovered rather quickly, focusing back on the Uchiha at his side with something dangerously close to a smirk on his lips. “I suppose dinner wouldn’t kill me, assuming you’re not the one cooking it.”

“Then it’s sett- _and what exactly is that supposed to mean_?”

His only answer was a puff of laughter, and with a flash of seals Madara found himself alone on the street, left glaring and grinding his teeth to keep from sputtering some more. Why he even wanted to have the infuriating bastard over for dinner was a mystery anyway.

With that lie firmly at the front of his mind to keep the disgusting _feelings_ oriented thoughts at bay, Madara stormed back towards the hokage tower. He had a meeting to get to, then a few hours of work before heading home and cooking the best damned dinner any Senju could ever hope of tasting.


End file.
